Friday, April 29, 2005

Weekend Plans or Lack Thereof

I must keep myself occupied this weekend or I’ll start thinking about the bizarre matching of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. I must get that image out of my mind. Katie, go back to Chris. Yeah, he’s C-list---and barely at that---but he’s not a cult tool. And he doesn’t look like your dirty midget pimp escorting you around town. Oh, and if you are actually reading this, Katie, could you get me Marc Blucas’s phone number? Thanks!

Friday Night
Gee, let’s think about this. Friday night. Will I go on a date? Will I meet friends for dinner and a movie? Drinks and dancing at a club? Oh wait. I can’t get a date, I don’t have any friends, and I’m not nearly cool enough for a club. Guess I’ll do the usual: magazines and DVDs.

* Making up hours at work. Because someday, I would like to use my vacation time for a vacation.
* Dog park. Because my dog has a social life even if I do not.
* Going to Hill Country Weavers in a futile attempt to find yarn that matches the front half of a pillow cover that I’ve already made. And probably getting a whole bunch more yarn that will sit in the closet gathering dust.
* Reading Other People’s Children by Joanna Trollope because it’s due back to the library in a week.
* Going to see Gina Chavez sing at La Tazza Fresca (9 p.m.; Guadalupe and 27th Sts). Gina has a great voice, great songs that she wrote herself, and a wicked sense of humor.

* Church. Maybe. Hopefully.
* Running. Really. I swear. Okay, with my fingers crossed.
* Dog park. So maybe my dog is a little bit spoiled.
* Mozart’s for reading and chilling (weather permitting).

In an effort at honesty, I’m not even going to try to claim that I will write or clean my apartment.

Now, I know that I should feel more pathetic that I don’t have more to do and that I’m pretty much spending my weekend alone. But really, I’m kind of looking forward to it. Just me, my dog, and lots of reading material.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Things That Annoy Me Today



Waiting at Starbucks. Doesn't everyone know that I NEED my chai RIGHT NOW.




Texas drivers

Sharing my Utz

Anorexic starlets who used to be so cute when they weighed just a few pounds more

David Boreanaz

People who can follow their bliss and still pay the bills


Monday, April 25, 2005


I'm tired. I'm cranky. I can't form a coherent thought. So I'm just going to crib stuff from Bookslut:

"One day, you're a new New Yorker subscriber. A few months later, the only issue you finished reading was the first one to arrive, and even that felt like homework. The others get flipped through and then placed on the "Surely I'll read these someday" pile along with the half-read Atlantic Monthlys, the issues of The Economist you pick up at the bookstore but never read, and the Paris Reviews you should really just throw away. Soon after that, your cat is knocking the precarious stack over at least twice a week, and you're getting so close to just chucking the whole lot. But articles! That look so interesting and important! Oh... you'll get around to them soon. Real soon. Right after you finish this issue of Lucky. Well, at least I'm not alone."

I, too, feel less alone in this world. And I now know that not everyone will furrow their brow when my obit reads that I was crushed to death under a pile of unread magazines.

Oh. Dear. God.

From the National Review:

"As Congress considers reauthorizing the Patriot Act, it explicitly should add libraries to the locations where federal investigators may hunt terrorists."

There's more. Read it yourself.

This makes me want to go to the library and check out every liberal, revolutionary, and "dangerous" book I can find. It also makes me want to be a librarian.

Friday, April 22, 2005

John Paul the Great

I wasn't going to post today, but I could resist sharing this:

Pope John Paul II Chicken Breast

You know, Frank Perdue died the day before JPII. Coincidence? Or the first sign of the apocalypse?

Thursday, April 21, 2005


I got nothing to offer today but these links. Enjoy!

ChickLit (via Bookslut)

Danes for Bush

The Yes Men

The Blind Item Guessing Game

Intervention: The Drinking Game (via Gawker)

Strong Bad E-mail (turn the sound on; thanks Max!)

Wednesday, April 20, 2005


In Which the Author Hands in His Copyedited Manuscript and Pays Tribute to the Most Unheralded Job in Publishing

What if you have to copyedit a book that you hate?

I work in fits and starts, bitch and moan to others in the business, toy with the idea of leaving everything just as it is, walk around the block when I find myself sarcastically reading passages aloud to myself. When the deadline looms close enough, I sit down and do what I’m being paid to do. You just do your best and wonder why you didn’t make a career of grooming poodles or putting wheels on toy trains when you had the chance. And why you didn’t have the business sense to whip out a piece of trash and sell it to a publisher for a huge advance.

And my favorite line (about the best part of copyediting): reclining comfortably in bed surrounded by reference books and manuscript pages


Reading Rainbow

I don't have much joy in my life right now. It would probably help if I read about something other than genocide, poverty, hunger, disease, and the evils of globalization; saw movies that didn't center on death; and left my apartment every once in a while for something other than doggy doo duty.

But I do have the bright spots: Rowen, who makes me laugh at least a dozen times a day, even when she's being naughty (especially when she's being naughty); sunny days at the dog park; super-yummy handpicked strawberries; and Wednesday morning storytime.

Each Wednesday morning, I read to 4-year-olds at a local daycare. As soon as I step out of the car, I hear the kids calling, "The Storytime Lady is here!" (Last week, I asked the kids if they knew what my name was. One little girl raised her hand up high and said, "Storytime Lady." Hee!) Then, I get to spend half an hour reading children's books, singing silly songs, and doing goofy dances. Better still, I get smiles and giggles and hugs. I get two dozen kids who can't wait to see me and who all want to tell me something REALLY IMPORTANT all at once and who listen with rapt attention and wide eyes as I read about dinosaurs and puppies and giants.

(And I get a soy chai from Starbucks on my way back to the office!)

Wednesday mornings are definitely the best time of the week.

This week's Storytime Stories were (you know you know the song, so sing along . . . Butterfly in the sky . . . I can go twice as high . . . )

Hunting the Daddyosaurus by Teresa Bateman, illustrated by Benrei Huang
Ten Terrible Dinosaurs by Paul Strickland
Dinosaur Train by John Steven Gurney

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Spring Wardrobe Wish List

I want! I want! I want!

From the L.L. Bean spring catalog.

Monday, April 18, 2005

This Week's Reading Wish List

I want! I want! I want!

Writing with Intent: Essays, Reviews, Personal Prose 1983--2005 by Margaret Atwood
Canada has a disproportionate number of truly awesome women writers. Yet another reason to move there.

Radical Love: Wisdom from Dorothy Day; Loves and Fishes; Selected Writings: By Little and By Little and pretty much anything else by Dorothy Day. (If you haven't read The Long Loneliness yet, put down whatever you are doing and run, run, run to the bookstore for it.)

A Problem from Hell: America and the Age of Genocide by Samantha Power
I know that this and By Little and By Little were on the nightstand before. I borrowed them from the library, renewed them, held on to them for dear life, but neither was a book I could digest in the large swallow demanded by the library due dates (and other books intervened).

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro; Dog by Michelle Herman; and Paradise by A.L. Kennedy
Because even a masochist like myself needs some good fiction. And check out the cover of Dog!

On the Nightstand

Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames by Thich Nhat Hanh
The only problem is that the Buddhists are currently the ones making me angry.

In Her Shoes by Jennifer Weiner
I'd have this finished, but I do have to seem conscious at work. But it really is that good.

The Art of Happiness: A Handbook for Living by the Dalai Lama
I'm trying to think of something zenful and nice to say, but I'm having only snarky, mean thoughts today.

Vanity Fair, May Issue
This is the second month in a row that Vanity Fair has had women in swimsuits on the cover. Now, I've never taken VF as seriously as it takes itself. But the guys in the mailroom at work are going to start wondering about me.

Children of the '80s

Remember Richard Grieco?

It's that sort of a Monday morning that only snarking on other people's misery and failures can make me sort of feel good.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Addendum II

Other things that annoy me: capris and mini skirts. Neither of these look good on the majority of the population. Most women (myself included) are too short (i.e. under 5'10") and heavy (i.e. more than 110 lbs.) to wear either of these items. So why are they the only two options for spring/summer? How about some nice flowy pants, jeans that are cut to a grown woman's figure, and t-shirts that are fitted without being clingy and see-through. Am I really asking too much?

At least tunics are in style.

Weekend Plans

Not much planned for this weekend. Then again, even when I have plans, I tend to blow them off in favor of serious slacking at home.

Friday Night
The usual: Magazine and DVD binge. Thanks to Mel for lending me Ocean's Twelve.

* Going to Boggy Creek Farm. I’m trying to eat healthier. Maybe some organically grown, locally farmed veggies will inspire me.
* Taking Rowen to the dog park.
* Reading In Her Shoes. I love Jennifer Weiner. I want to be Jennifer Weiner.
* Cleaning. For real. I must clean. My parents are coming in a week and my apartment looks like it’s been ransacked by vengeful dust bunnies and overly caffeinated Conde Nast employees. I must clean. I’m picking them up from the airport in seven days and the seats of my car are covered in an inch of dog hair. Both the apartment and the car reek of wet dog and musty furniture and rotted food. I am a slob. I must clean.
* Clawing out of financial hell. Last night, I started sorting out the mess that is my bank accounts. I have several, despite the fact that I have no money. I also completely lack the ability to keep track of my spending. After two hours of sorting receipts and comparing my records to the bank’s records, I’m off by $233.50. Forget balancing my accounts; I’d be happy to get the discrepancy down to double digits. This weekend, I will sort it out so that I can pretend that I won’t let this happen again.
* Shopping for jeans at Old Navy. If I have any money left after digging my way out of financial hell, that is. But I have exactly one pair of jeans that (a) fits and (b) doesn’t have holes in unfortunate and inappropriate places. And maybe get a super-cute tunic.

* Going to church. Maybe.
* Running. If I want that one pair of jeans to continue fitting, I have to get some exercise.
* Volunteering at the Inside Books Project. Maybe. I’ve been sliding by on the bare minimum of good deeds. I’ve been wanting to volunteer with this particular project. But I seem to lack the wherewithal to leave my apartment after 6 p.m. Or to interact with other people at most times of the day (unless it involves demoralizing and distracting my coworkers).
* Hanging out with Rowen and a stack of magazines and/or a book.

I’m not even going to pretend that I’m going to write this weekend. I can lie to myself, but I can’t keep lying to the 1.25 people who read this blog.


I'm also annoyed that I'm stuck inside a dark, windowless hovel on a beautiful, warm spring day when the breeze is perfect and the birds are singing and I should be sitting at a street cafe sipping lemonade and reading a good book.

Things That Are Annoying Me Today

The evil stalker cat outside my apartment. Yesterday, for a moment, I took pity on the cat and thought about bringing it inside. Then it attacked Rowen. There will be no pity for that cat.

Group decisions.

Living in a litigious society. My apartment management is now requiring renter's insurance with personal liability so that they won't get sued. Bah!

Living in a consumerist society. The lowest personal property insurance level is $15,000. I have nowhere near that in personal property. My furniture is all donations (I like to think of my apartment as a hospice for dying furniture); I don't own any electronics (so don't bother trying to burgle me); and I could get a decent wardrobe for $1000 ( or less if I'm honest about what I really wear---which is pretty much two pairs of jeans and a half dozen shirts in steady rotation). I like feeling that there's nothing material that would be a huge loss to me (in case of a fire, I would save my dog and my journals---and maybe a book so I have something to read while I wait for the fire department). But because I'm required to have renter's insurance, I have to share in the cost of those who have way too much stuff. (And, yes, I do know how judgmental I am.)

40-hour work weeks.

Austin drivers.


Thursday, April 14, 2005

Book Review: The Ninth Life of Louis Drax

Some books grab you from the very beginning—from the first line (Moby Dick’s “Just call me Ishmael”) or the first paragraph (the gritty, gripping opening of James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces). Other books require a little more patience. The Ninth Life of Louis Drax by Liz Jensen requires a lot more patience, but the patient reader will be rewarded.

The story begins several months after Louis Drax, an emotionally disturbed nine-year-old, fell to his near-death during a family picnic. Indeed, Louis was declared dead, only to come to life in the morgue and enter a deep coma. He is transferred to a respite care center—once known as “Hôpital des Incurables” (Hospital for the Incurables)—and the watchful eye of Dr. Pascal Dannachet. The doctor also has an eye for Natalie Drax, Louis’s mother, and as their relationship grows, so does his curiosity about what happened to Louis and what is possible in the mind of a coma patient. Thrown into the mix are Pierre Drax, Louis’s father, who disappeared after allegedly pushing Louis off the cliff; Marcel Perez, Louis’s psychiatrist, who quits his practice after the fall; Sophie, Dr. Dannachet’s suspicious wife; Stephanie Charvillefort, the detective assigned to the case, who knows more than she’s telling; and Gustave, Louis’s companion and guide in his comatose mind.

The first third of the novel drags like a bad family dinner. The story alternates narrators, between Louis and Dr. Dannachet. On one side, you have a spoiled bratty nine-year-old who talks incessantly and tactlessly, occasionally blurting out inappropriate remarks about sex, while his mother describes him as precocious even as he throws the peas and breaks the good china. On the other side, you have a melancholy and self-important middle-age doctor who thinks you are as interested as he is in the minutia of his work and midlife crisis. Meanwhile, you wonder how long before dessert.

Dessert comes in Chapter 5, when Louis mysteriously sits up. At this point, as the cliché goes, the plot thickens. More important, the middle-age introspection and childish rambling disappear and the action begins. Louis’s chapters become significantly shorter, making his antics more bearable (by the end of Chapter 3, you’ll understand why someone would want to toss him off a cliff), and Dr. Dannachet stops talking so much and starts doing something. Letters appear, signed with Louis’s name. Dr. Dannachet begins to doubt Natalie’s version of what happened—and his own sanity. The pace quickens, and the pages that were once a labor to turn begin to fly from one to another.

Although the conclusion is mostly predictable to anyone with a passing knowledge of CSI or Law & Order, the thrill is in waiting for the characters to discover the truth as the mysteries pile up and Dr. Dannachet’s predicament spins out of control. The climax is over-the-top melodramatic and unnecessary given the gasp-worthy revelations; skipping it would have made for a tighter story. Jensen, however, regains her good judgment for the postscript and doesn't entirely wrap things up with a neat bow.

Comparisons to The Lovely Bones and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time aren’t deserved; those were much better developed and more original. Still, the patient reader leaves feeling satiated by an intriguing and thrilling mystery.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

I Got Nothing Today

So go check out these links:

The Happiest Place on Earth

New York Depression Test (I think this can apply to Austin, as well)

DataLounge (check out their forum)

Page Six (Gossip! Gossip! Gossip!)

Television Without Pity (Poor Boone)

Book Millionaire Casting Call (Think I can make it on with a space dolphin pitch?)

Amazon is for Geeks

That should keep ya'll occupied for the afternoon.

Is It Too Soon To Call Child Protective Services?

Or to place bets on which Jackson child the Spears-Fenderline spawn will marry in Vegas?

Britney's Big News

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Movie Reviews!

I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead (2003)
Will Graham (Clive Owen) is a dark, moody, mysterious character who ambles about aimlessly and mutters in a thick English accent. The same could be said the movie.

The film begins by following Will’s brother Davey through his nightly rounds of drug deals, sex, and scams. The night does not end well; Davey is found dead in his bathtub the next day. Will, who has been living a hermit’s life in a beat up van in the countryside, has a vision of Davey that sends him back to London. When he gets there, he sets out to find the reason for Davey’s death. What Will---and the audience---find is a pat answer tacked abruptly to the end of the film.

The film’s primary problem is in pacing: Too much time is spent upfront, following Davey from point to point, waiting for his friends and landlord to discover his body, following Will from point to point, waiting for Will to discover that Davey is dead and return to London. The ending then feels rushed, as Will too quickly and easily discovers who is responsible for his brother’s death and demands and explanation. The film winds up feeling like a television crime show in which the crime is always wrapped up with a neat bow in the last five minutes.

The second problem is a lack of resolution. The man responsible for Davey’s death is a pretty little speech that probably looked great on the page, but it doesn’t really reveal anything as to why Davey was targeted for the man’s wrath or what he expected to gain from his attack on Davey. Nor does the audience get any answer to the other---more pressing---mystery: Why did Will leave London? The question is asked, repeatedly, within the film, but then dropped unceremoniously without even a hint of reason.

The only thing the film does resolve is any debate on whether Clive Owen should be the next James Bond. The answer is no. Owen certainly is tall and handsome, he looks good in a suit, and he has the requisite English accent. But Bond has a mischievous wit and playfulness that Owen lacks. Now as Bond’s nemesis . . . that’s an idea.

Off the Map (2003)
An eccentric, clothing-optional family living off the land in New Mexico. A suit-wearing IRS man from the city. The culture shock that follows as each learns to respect the other.

Or maybe not.

Let’s try again. A young girl growing up with an eccentric family living off the land in New Mexico who wants a more normal life. A suit-wearing IRS man from the city. Together, they learn that normal isn’t always better as the girl comes of age.

Nope. Not that either.

Once more. A depressed father heading an eccentric family living off the land in New Mexico. His young daughter who wants a more normal life. Together, they help each other through.

Still not it.

“Off the Map” is a beautifully filmed movie with a stellar cast that includes Joan Allen, J.K. Simmons, and Sam Elliott. The movie, however, doesn’t have a story. It’s little more than a series of quirky situations that get mired in their own quirkiness without a narrative thread to hold them together and move the film forward.

The set up of the film is the eccentric family, with Joan Allen (in very bad extensions) as the mother, Sam Elliott as the depressed father, and Valentina de Angelis as the young daughter, Bo, who wants a normal life but isn’t quite sure what that is. Into their lives comes William Gibb (Jim True-Frost, who did fish-out-of-water way better in The Wire), an IRS agent from Albuquerque. Will’s first impression of the family is the mother standing gloriously naked in the garden, and soon after, he falls sick from a mysterious disease and in love with the mother. As the weeks go by, he stays with the family and takes up painting. In the meantime, Bo develops a crush on Will and the life he left behind.

But the film doesn’t move past its set up. There’s no conflict, little growth, and no resolution. The dialogue is mostly stilted and unconnected, and even a voice-over narrative from the young girl doesn’t connect the dots.

For a film with so many possibilities and such great talent, this is waste.

Monday, April 11, 2005

The DTs

I so have the DTs. Once again, I'm trying to reform my unhealthy ways---no more sodas, limiting my sweets, cutting out fats and dairy and adding in whole grains and fruits and veggies. I've been on the wagon for a whole 10 hours, and now I'm getting the DTs. I've got cravings, a headache, nausea, dizziness. I'm getting cranky and irritable and irrationally obsessed with the interior workings of the printer. And I know what will make it all better: a bag of M&Ms. Or a can of soda. Or a Snickers bar. Anything involving high doses of sugar.

Must be strong . . .

Feel free to place bets on when I fall off the wagon and go on a chocolate bender.

I'll be here munching on my organic granola bar. Yum.

Damage Report

I made a big, big mistake on Friday. I parked at Book People to walk over to an anti-death penalty rally at the capitol building. So, of course, I had to go in when I got back. "I'm just avoiding rush hour traffic," I reasoned with myself. "I'll just get a chai and browse."

$42.95 later I walked out with the following:
Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames by Thich Nhat Hanh
Touching the Earth: Guided Meditations for Beginning Anew by Thich Nhat Han
Thoughts Without a Thinker: Psychotherapy from a Buddhist Perspective by Mark Epstein

I don't know what was with my Zen/Buddhist bent. Perhaps after reading so many unhappy books about genocide, poverty, racism, elitism, globalization, hunger, and general injustice, I need to read about peaceful things. Perhaps it is because, as Ghandi said, if I want to transform others, I first must transform myself. Or was that Michael Jackson who said that?

Anyway, I spent much of the weekend reading an excellent book:
Ghandi, The Man: The Story of His Transformation by Eknath Easwaran

The book is excellent because, rather than retelling what Ghandi did, Easwaran examines what Ghandi believed---how he came to those beliefs and how he applied those beliefs in his life.

Now I want to join a commune.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Weekend Plans

Last weekend didn’t go exactly as planned, mostly because of Pope John Paul II’s death. I spent most of Friday and Saturday crying, moping, or saying the rosary. Let’s hope this weekend goes a little better.

Sunny, High 79
* Leaving work early to go to an anti-death penalty rally sponsored by Amnesty International. 59 people were executed in the United States in 2004; more than 3,400 people are currently under death sentences. Texas has one of the highest rates of death sentences---both given and executed---particularly because Texas does not have an option for sentences of life without parole.
* Spending the night watching DVDs and reading trashy magazines.

Sunny, High 82
* Going to work to make up the hours I skipped to go to the rally.
* Taking the dog to the park.
* Reading about Ghandi.
* Cleaning my apartment.
* Updating my bank records. I don’t even try to balance my checkbook anymore. I just hope I can get it close.

Partly cloudy, High 82
* Running. Maybe. Hopefully.
* Church. Maybe. Hopefully.
* Writing. Maybe. Hopefully.
* Going to see a matinee of Off the Map at the Arbor. Maybe.
* Reading. Definitely.
* Napping. Abso-friggin-lutely.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

A Separate Faith

When Pope John Paul II died this past weekend, my first thought—as a Catholic and a writer—was to write about it. But in those first days, my thoughts were hard to pin down and harder to explain.

For as long as I’ve been conscious of Vatican policy, I’ve opposed many of the Pope’s decisions. I’m in favor of women as priests; he not only opposed the idea but also banned all debate on the topic. I believe that use of a contraceptive is no different than natural family planning; the Pope has fought against contraceptives. I support acceptance of homosexuals, liberation theology, and pro-choice politics—all things that the Pope has spoken against.

Yet, for as long as I’ve been conscious of John Paul II as the Pope, I’ve admired him and considered him to be a holy man. I’ve always thought of him as a man of great faith, strength, and wisdom. I was devastated by his death, as if I had lost a grandparent.

How could I reconcile such opposing views—disagreeing with much of what the Pope espoused but still respecting him as a holy and wise man? I’m not alone in feeling this way. The family, friends, and even strangers with whom I’ve spoken in the past few days feel very much the same way; they don’t always like the institution, but they love the man. And, really, this is the experience of many American Catholics today. We love our faith, but we don’t always like our religion. We like our church, but we don’t like our Church.

As an American Catholic, I have become adept at splitting hairs and creating dualities to bridge my contemporary life with my traditional faith. I am pro-life privately but pro-choice politically. I accept homosexuality, but I’m not sure we want homosexual marriages, at least not in the church. I believe in intelligent design, but I want schools to teach evolution. I know I should follow the Ten Commandments---and I feel guilty when I don’t---but I don’t want them posted in schools or courthouses.

So it is with Pope John Paul II. I believed that he was too conservative, too traditional, and too shut off from the contemporary world. But I also saw the good that he did. Pope John Paul II energized a flagging faith, reached out to the youth, and embraced a larger vision of faith that included not only Protestantism and Judaism but also Islam, Buddhism, and other Eastern religions. He took strong stances against war and the death penalty. (Liberals aren’t the only ones who pick and choose in faith; Republicans laud the Vatican’s positions on abortion and euthanasia while conveniently ignoring those on the death penalty and unjust war.) He was an outsider---the first non-Italian Pope in centuries---and he traveled beyond the Vatican walls more than any other Pope in history. And for a generation, he was “Papa,” the only Pope that I and many other young Catholics know. For me, he was like a grandfather: traditional, conservative, and out of touch with the modern ways, but always wise, generous, and loving.

So how do I reconcile my love for the man with my opposition to his policies? I think it comes down to the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have done unto you. As a liberal American Catholic, I hope that God gives credit for good intentions. I hope that faith can transcend rules and that I can be forgiven for being human. I hope that God sees my struggle to maintain my faith in a modern world and has compassion for me.

Likewise, I give Pope John Paul II credit for his good intentions and recognize the struggle that he must have had to stay faithful to Christ’s teachings in a world that roundly rejects them. I can see that he was a good, faithful, holy man even if I disagreed with his interpretation of those teachings. I know that he did what he thought was right and best.

Mostly, I know that although we’re from different generations and cultures, Karol Wojtyla and I are both humans, stumbling toward heaven. He’s made it there. I hope I’ll join him someday.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Ummmm . . .

I don't even know where to begin with this one:

"A representative for Spears said: "Britney and Kevin were at the hotel to celebrate [sister] Jamie Lynn's birthday. An emergency meeting was called, but only because Britney was afraid her dog, Bit Bit, was pregnant by [brother] Brian's dog, Porkchop — and that would be incest." (from Page Six)

I can only pray that God will never let these people have children.

And for cryin' out loud---Spay your dog!

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Those McSweeney's Kids

Until I can come up with something worth posting, here's a Daily Hee from McSweeney's. Make sure to scroll down to the Breakfast Burger review.

Monday, April 04, 2005

A Moment of Silence

Today, just take a few minutes to be silent and think of yourself as a living saint.

Friday, April 01, 2005

Weekend Plans

I admit: I cheated a little yesterday. Instead of writing something new, I posted an op-ed I had written (but had been rejected) for The American. Even though I know the piece isn’t very good, I feel strongly about the topic and needed to get my thoughts out there.

Anyway . . . .

My plans for this weekend are as follows:

Friday Night
* Trashy magazine and chocolate-chip cookie binge. Thanks to Eric and Lee for the pile o’ magazines. Eric is my coworker. Lee is his wife. Lee likes trashy magazines, processed sugar, and alone time. I love Lee.

* Massive guilt hangover from previous night’s binge.
* Getting my car washed at a fundraiser for teens from a coworker’s church. Clean car and self-satisfaction with doing a good deed.
* Ecumenical service and community celebration to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the assassination of Oscar Romero. I’m ambivalent about spending an afternoon in a crowd of people I don’t know who will most likely know each other very well, but I can always ditch after the service.
* Possibly a matinee of Bride & Prejudice.
* DVD mini-marathon: I have the first disc in the Freaks & Geeks series and I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead. I will resist the urge to go to the video store and rent more.

* Church. I hope. Depends on my mood when I wake up.
* Dog park with Rowen.
* Reading for my JustFaith study group (although I’ll probably just read more trashy magazines).
* Ruminating on the meaning of “pro-life.” Check next week for my thoughts.
* Movie matinee (if I don’t go on Saturday).

Things I Should Do But Probably Won’t
* My JustFaith reading.
* Finishing a review of The Ninth Life of Louis Drax.
* Vacuuming the massive quantities of dog (and human) hair out of my carpet.
* Finishing the pillow that I’ve been knitting for more than a year.
* Mending the large pile of To-Be-Mended clothes.
* Writing.

PS: For my editor friends: Yes, I know that my lists are not parallel. Yes, I do care. No, I'm not going to fix them.

PSS: If anyone is interested an op-ed that I have had published in The American, check this link: Letter From Austin.